In her darkened place of business, a mother screams deafeningly, and the sound does not pause for well over a minute. When she stops for a breath, she compensates by grabbing a vial of clear liquid from the shelf and throwing it at the ground. As it shatters she screams again, this time in small broken segments, smashing vials as she does with no regard to the rare substances each vial holds. She is a psychic, a mystic, a skilled medium to the supernatural and her skills can be attributed to more than parlor tricks. Why, then, had she not foreseen this?

"We couldn't let you see, Mary." Whispers her inner eye. A calm, familiar whisper which normally surfaces when there is a secret to tell. Those goddamn spirits knew all along. She grabs a dusty book from the shelf, and throws it at nothing.

"Fuck you!" she screams. "I thought you were my friends!" She collapses to the ground in tears. Her husband's influence on her child had led him astray, right to where she had expected it would.

An early grave.

Her last shred of humanity snaps.